


The Flickering Light

by severallifetimesago



Series: Episode Rewrites and Extensions: MacDennis [1]
Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Episode: s11e09 The Gang Goes to Hell, M/M, Mac protects the gang, dennis is soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 11:35:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15750867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/severallifetimesago/pseuds/severallifetimesago
Summary: Mac tries his best to protect Dennis, always.





	The Flickering Light

**Author's Note:**

> Another Sunny fic! This is uncharacteristically soft, I know, but roll with me. I really like the idea (and it's canon, in my head at least) that Mac lends all this emotional and physical comfort to his friends, despite being unable to handle his own inner turmoil. Title comes from "Forget About Life" by Alvvays. Comments and kudos are appreciated!

The drive from the insurance office back to Philly is tense, to say the least, each of them caught up in the fraud of their final moments. For some unknown reason, Dennis had wordlessly passed the keys to the Range Rover to Dee, avoiding her gaze. Still, he refuses to look at her, like he's simply incapable of it. It unsettles Mac.

It's him, Dennis, and Charlie in the back seat. Dennis leans against Mac, pressed himself thigh to thigh as soon as they sat down, and Mac has slung his arm behind Dennis's seat to accommodate the closeness. 

They've been in the car for only a few silent minutes, everyone caught up in themselves, when Dennis squeezes his eyes shut and burrows face first beneath Mac's raised arm. Stricken, Mac stares at his unruly mop of curls with wide eyes, at least until he finds himself dropping his arm around Dennis's shoulders, pulling him closer and stroking his thumb over his bicep. 

He sees Dee glance at them in the rear-view mirror. Charlie falls asleep on his other side, leaning – and drooling steadily – on his shoulder. Frank says something uncharacteristically quietly, so quietly that Mac can't make it out, but Dee grits her jaw, eyes flicking sharply to her right, and says nothing in response. 

Dennis shivers, and there's nothing Mac can do but pull him in closer, lending him his own warmth.

Charlie and Frank are dropped off first, Mac gently shaking Charlie awake. He jolts out of his dream, eyes wide and face red and indented with the seams of Mac's T-shirt. His expression is a little more vacant than Mac is comfortable with. 

"How's your head?" he asks quietly, not sure if Dennis is asleep, but knowing he doesn't want to wake him. 

"Iss fine," he slurs, swaying out of the car and into Frank's arms. Frank props him up as best he can, gripping his shoulders tightly, but can't help that his foot falls back, a support against Charlie’s weight.

Mac squints at him. There's a red starburst from the flare on his temple, alarmingly bright and, so far, refusing to fade. He was briefly examined after the rescue, treated for his wounds, but so was every passenger. They could've missed something. They _probably_ missed something. The familiar, expected protectiveness that accompanies his feelings about Charlie flares up at the thought. 

"Can you keep an eye on him, Frank?" Mac asks, gaze never leaving Charlie's wound. "Watch him for tonight, and if he seems off, take him to the hospital. Please?"

Frank nods. Mac sees his hand tighten on Charlie's shoulder, a fond, reassuring squeeze. He trusts him.

"Be safe," Mac says, for good measure, and Frank simply grunts in response. 

"Later," Charlie adds, more focused on walking than the strength of his goodbye, which seems fair. 

Mac's eyes follow their slow progress into the apartment building as Dee shifts gears and drives off.

His attention is diverted when Dennis shifts minutely, and Mac tightens the arm that's slung around him, urging him nearer, closer to Mac's side. When he looks up, Dee is watching the two of them in the mirror. 

"Is he okay?" she asks softly, the only sound in the silent car. He swears that he sees a flash of worry on her face, but just as quickly, it's carefully blank.

"I'm not sure," Mac tells her honestly, for once not trying to pick a fight.

He waits a deliberate moment in the silence before he asks, "Why didn't you tell him you loved him, too?"

She flinches in the driver's seat, her damp, limp hair framing her tired, stricken face, making her look very thin, almost gaunt. In this moment, she actually reminds him a lot of Dennis. Exhausted, but refusing to show it. Concerned, for herself and her brother, but making a ridiculous effort to disguise it. Closed off, brimming with emotions. A lot like Dennis.

"Because he didn't mean it," she says at last. Her tone implies it's that simple. Mac doesn't know what to say.

They sit in even more silence until they reach Dee's apartment. Though they’ve parked, she makes no move to get out of the car. "I'm gonna go somewhere else tonight," she says vaguely, finally.

"Okay," Mac responds, because he has no leverage with her, no connection.

He gently wakes Dennis and guides his sleepy form out of the car. He's leaning heavily on Mac's side, bleary-eyed and patient, either uncaring or oblivious to Dee's intent to drive off in his car.

"Come back safe," Mac advises her, if only for Dennis's sake. 

She rolls her eyes and is gone.

When they return to the apartment, Mac and Dennis wordlessly collapse on the couch. It takes only a few seconds before Dennis is bringing his long legs up onto the cushion, tucking them beneath him, and turning to face Mac. Mac looks over at him, leaning his head against the cushion, feeling exhaustion in his every bone. He's tired. So, so tired.

Dennis is wrecked. Mac understands. Though it's not unusual for his friend to demand physical closeness like he did on the drive, he doesn't think Dennis has _ever_ considered showing that kind of dependence in front of the others. He equates that behavior with weakness, and Dennis Reynolds abhors the weak.

Still, his eyes are soft, the blue shining bright now that he's had the chance to awaken more fully. His skin is pale, but not worryingly so, not pallid or clammy. He'd watched him eat, after the rescue. His hair is soft and so curly, the salt from the water (that they almost drowned in, Mac purposely doesn't think about) bringing back the tightly wound, seemingly gravity-independent locks Mac remembers Dennis had in high school. A wistful fondness blossoms in his chest at the memory. He looks real, authentic. Dennis never _wants_ to look real, Mac knows. It both thrills and terrifies him.

Dennis returns his stare for a beat, contemplative, then slowly, tentatively reaches a hand out and lightly runs his fingers through Mac's hair. Mac's eyes flutter closed, pleased. His fingers continue to move, delicately tracing the warm skin behind Mac's ear, his hand coming to a rest as it cups his jaw. He strokes his thumb over the swell of Mac's cheek, tender and soft. Mac leans into the touch.

"I thought - " Dennis starts, but the words come out rough and he stops abruptly. Mac moves to cover Dennis's hand on his face with one of his own, encouraging. He scoots closer on the couch, their knees knocking gently together, unconsciously providing Dennis with a physical anchor as he’s done so many times throughout the years.

Dennis looks away from him, down at his lap. He's shifting like he's nervous or embarrassed or uncomfortable, which are all things Dennis pretends never to be. Worry pulses through Mac at the sight.

"You don't love me anymore?" he asks in a very small voice, and of all things Dennis could have said he wasn't expecting _that_. His thumb is still stroking, affectionate and achingly sweet on Mac's face, like he's something precious, but when he looks back up, his eyes are wet with betrayal.

Mac sputters. He's at a loss.

"It's just," Dennis starts, cutting himself off again. He swallows around those words, forces new ones out. "It's just that last time you thought we were gonna die, you told me you loved me. And today, you," he pauses, "didn't."

"Den," Mac breathes, incredulous. _Who_ is this man in front of him, who doubts something so glaringly obvious, something that's been a constant in Mac's life since he was fifteen? "Of _course_ I love you, how could you even _thi_ \- "

And Dennis's lips are on his, rough and all-consuming and perfect. Mac responds instantly, as if this is something they've done before, but maybe it's just like everything else with Dennis, second nature, instinctual, _right_. His hands find their way into Dennis's hair, scratching softly at his scalp, and he positively keens, shifting so close to Mac he's practically in his lap. Dennis's fingers flutter at his jawline, the nape of his neck, his chest, tracing his skin so gently and reverently Mac can't help but return the touches, mapping Dennis's face as if he's never seen it before, hasn’t already memorized it's every dip, swell, angle.

Gasping, Mac pulls away from the kiss, leaning his forehead against Dennis's. Their breaths mingle, hot and sharp. Dennis's eyes are dark, heavy-lidded and intensely focused on Mac. 

"I love you, too," Dennis whispers, the words barely more than an exhale, Mac practically reading his lips. He leans his face closer, bumps his nose against Mac's. "I," he gulps, "I just can't say it all the time."

Mac is in awe, shocked, delighted. He's elated, riding on a high of pure, bewildered, unadulterated happiness. Years and years and years of friendship and feelings have culminated into a moment Mac hopes he never forgets, would unflinchingly stay sober forever if it meant he could keep it in sharp-edged clarity. He hopes Dennis can see it all, every joyful emotion he's cycling through, in his eyes. He thinks, after decades of closeness, knowing each other better than themselves, he probably can.

And, if Dennis can't say the words, Mac reasons, he'll do it enough for the both of them. So he fills the space between breaths with them, whispers them over Dennis's lips, mouths them across Dennis's inner thighs, grits them out between his teeth as he bites a mark in the valley formed by Dennis's collarbones. And, after he's fallen asleep, tucked against Mac's chest ( _and he has every right to fit so well there_ , Mac thinks proudly), he lets the sentiment fall from his mouth once more, muffled by Dennis's hair, and hopefully, the words will soak into his body and find a home there, beloved and safe.

He falls asleep, never having felt so warm.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
